


Wednesday The Best Day of All

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe-Somebody Lives Not Everybody Dies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23789275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: As soon as the ships arrived back in England, Captain Crozier would marry Thomas Jopson.Neither man had said as much, but there was no need to. It was a truth universally acknowledged, a situation common to the point of banality, that a captain who was unmarried when he left on a long sea voyage would come home betrothed to his faithful steward. It was not normallyde rigeurto make a match so far beneath one's class, but in the case of naval captains, it was all but compulsory.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little, William Gibson/Lt John Irving
Comments: 26
Kudos: 61
Collections: All Well: The Terror April 2020 Fest





	Wednesday The Best Day of All

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a kinkmeme prompt involving a world in which naval officers are assumed, if not expected, to marry their stewards. Full prompt in the end notes. 
> 
> Like so much of Edward Little fanon, his sister Harriot is the creation of the unparalleled vegetas. 
> 
> For the All Well Fiction and Art Fest.

As soon as the ships arrived back in England, Captain Crozier would marry Thomas Jopson. 

Neither man had said as much, but there was no need to. It was a truth universally acknowledged, a situation common to the point of banality, that a captain who was unmarried when he left on a long sea voyage would come home betrothed to his faithful steward. It was not normally _de rigeur_ to make a match so far beneath one's class, but in the case of naval captains, it was all but compulsory. Edward had seen several plays and more than one opera where great fun was made of characters “meeting the captain's spouse” only to find, to their great surprise and the audience's laughter, that this person was some boisterous aristocrat rather than the diffident lower-class man everyone expected. 

There were those, of course, who did not follow tradition, who travelled their own paths. Jopson's former captain, the great Sir James Clark Ross, had done so when he married a wealthy woman. Jopson himself might have married the then-Commander Crozier directly after their Antarctic expedition, although from what Edward was given to understand, he would have been looked down upon by the captains' spouses for having a lower-ranking man. Jopson didn't seem the type to be concerned with that. More likely, Edward thought, Jopson wanted to continue adventuring, and Crozier agreed to postpone their wedding until he'd had his fill of it. 

_After this_ , Edward thought, _Jopson will have certainly have had his fill._

“Pardon me, Lieutenant,” a familiar voice said. Edward glanced over his shoulder as the door slid open. “I saw your light on. I thought you might like a cup of tea.” 

“That's very kind, Mr. Jopson.” Edward lay his pen atop his logbook, woefully blank given the amount of time he had been sitting before it, and turned in his chair. Jopson passed over the cup and saucer. Without having to taste it, Edward knew it would be exactly to his liking. 

For all Jopson belonged to the captain, he often hovered in Edward's sphere, even when he was off-duty. Edward should not have enjoyed that as much as he did, but Jopson was so very enjoyable. 

He was clever and witty, more than Edward would have expected. He was beautiful, which Edward attempted not to notice. Above all, he was thoughtful. Jopson was forever bringing Edward cups of tea, taking his mending or his laundering before Gibson had the chance to get at it, inquiring after Edward's health and his duties and even wanting to know about Edward's life at home, about his many siblings and nieces and nephews and hobbies and interests. Of those, Edward had few. He'd never felt the lack before, but when Jopson asked, he found he wished he had something at least a little bit compelling, like watercolour painting or poetry or butterfly collecting to talk about.

“Look at that.” Jopson tutted, his gaze on the corner of Edward's bunk. “If you don't mind, sir, I'll just adjust your bedsheets. I don't like to speak ill of another man, as you know, but I don't rate Mr. Gibson's bed making techniques, not at all.” 

The bed seemed fine to Edward. He watched, sipping the tea, as Jopson efficiently stripped off the counterpane and repositioned the bottom sheet. 

“He seems to be with Irving a good deal of late,” Edward said. He abhorred gossip, but the words hadn't seemed like such until he said them aloud. 

“We know what that means, don't we?” Jopson shot a glance at Edward that was at once so saucy and so confidential, as if they were true friends, that Edward did not at all regret hanging Gibson out to dry. 

“Marrying a third lieutenant's a bit low, isn't it?” 

“I don't think so,” Jopson replied quickly. “Not if emotion is involved. People tend to see us as mercenary, but I've never known a steward who didn't want love more than he wanted a man of high position.” 

Edward wasn't sure what to say. Jopson clearly had love. The captain adored him. It seemed crass to mention it. He waited for Jopson to go on, but he didn't. Jopson smoothed down the counterpane, evidently satisfied with whatever changes he'd made, and stood up. His place by the bunk put him face-to-face with Edward's small bookshelf.

“I've finished that book you lent me.” He cast his eye over the few tomes there. “I must remember to bring it back to you.”

“ _Gulliver's Travels_ , wasn't it?” Edward was relieved to be back on a safer topic. “Did you like it?”

“I thought it was wonderful.” Jopson smiled, one of his big, bright smiles that gave him dimples and put colour in his cheeks. Just like that, Edward felt off-centre again. “Lilliputians and Brobdingnagians. It would be remarkable to visit lands like that, wouldn't it?” 

“I think Gulliver might say the same of where we are now,” Edward replied, but such introspection was not his way. He got up abruptly and crossed the small cabin in a step, to stand behind Jopson. “If you favour adventure stories, Swift is a classic, but I've another you might not know.” He reached over Jopson's shoulder and took _The Three Musketeers_ from the shelf. The two of them felt inordinately close, all of a sudden. Almost pressed to Jopson's back, Edward could feel the heat from Jopson's body. There was nothing to be done about that, he supposed, not in tight quarters such as these. “Author's a chap named Alexandre Dumas.”

Jopson's face became redder. The reason for that was evident when he replied, “I'm afraid I don't read French, sir.”

“Nor do I. It's an English translation. I'd never have managed it otherwise.” He handed the book to Jopson. Jopson took it, then, for no purpose Edward could discern, turned to face him. 

They were closer than they'd ever been, even on a ship not known for its spaciousness. So close, their noses almost touched. If Edward moved at all, even a fraction of an inch, they would do exactly that. If Jopson tilted his head, just a little, or if Edward did the same...

Edward stepped back so quickly, he bumped into his desk. The teacup rattled but did not fall entirely, only splashing a little liquid over its rim. 

“Oh, sir. Allow me.” 

_I would_ , Edward thought, despairingly. _God help me, I would._

Before Edward could blink, Jopson was dabbing at the spill. Edward cleared his throat, which felt suddenly tight. “Do let me know how you enjoy the book.” 

“I will. Thank you, sir. Good night, sir.” His gaze met Edward's for only a moment before he was gone. 

Alone again, Edward sat down heavily on his bunk. _No_ , he told himself, in a tone that brooked no argument. Then, again, _no._

Edward went to bed early, but it was a very long time before he slept. 

***

With a mind to boosting morale, the captains decided to celebrate the relatively mild weather—and, Edward suspected, to distract them all from the disheartening fact it was now early June and no leads had been spotted in the ice—with an afternoon of football matches between the ships. 

“Do you play?” Edward asked Jopson, as he awaited an audience with Crozier, the day before these scheduled pleasantries. The captain was with Blanky. Edward knew from experience that could take a very long time. There was other work he could be doing, but he was strangely loath to leave and return later. 

The curtains were open, admitting the Arctic sun. Jopson looked particularly fetching in that light, healthier and with even rosier cheeks than he bore in the sallow glow of the Patent Illuminators. Edward rebuked himself sternly for having noticed that.

Jopson stopped whatever he was doing, dusting or polishing or something of the like, and looked at Edward. “I'm afraid not, sir.” 

“No? It would seem your physique would make you very good at the game. Not that I would know,” Edward added with haste, “I merely meant...That is to say...”

“I was injured,” Jopson said, saving Edward from spiralling even further downwards. “On the _Racer_. But I admit, even before that, I always had a greater affinity for books than for...” He hesitated, a discomfited look on his face, then finished, “balls,” in a strangulated tone. Edward could not think why, until he himself strolled immediately into the same trap. 

“As a youth, I was quite practised at handling them.” The words were barely out of Edward's mouth before he was wishing most fervently for his own immediate demise.

Again, lovely Jopson— _too_ lovely Jopson—saved him. “I am enjoying that book you lent me, sir. I was up far too late last night reading it.” 

“Oh, good. I'm glad. Not that you were up late,” if anyone aboard deserved rest, it was Jopson, “but that you like it.”

Jopson put down his rag and squared his shoulders, before looking directly at Edward. “I can quite see you as one of them, sir. A musketeer. Dashing and brave. Wearing a big hat with a feather in it.” His expression was gentle, his eyes bright. 

Edward could feel himself flushing. “You flatter me, Jopson. I'm not that brave.” Clearly. If he was, Edward would fall to his knees right here and declare his love for the captain's betrothed. Kiss him, perhaps. Spend the rest of the voyage locked in the hold for it, but anything would be worth that little taste of Heaven. 

“Forgive me, sir, but that's not true. You are _extraordinarily_ brave.” Jopson's tone was so fervent, it almost made Edward believe it himself. “You are...”

What Edward was, alas, was lost as the captain's door opened. In an instant, Jopson became absorbed in dusting a windowsill, as Crozier said, “Ah, Edward. Please, come in,” with an air of such confident trust, Edward felt as though he had betrayed him already. 

When Jopson tapped on his door that evening, Edward knew he should refuse him. He was a weak man. He didn't. 

“Brought you a cup of tea,” Jopson said, stepping inside. He placed the cup and saucer on the desk. “And I've got a gift for you.”

“A gift?” 

That was certainly inappropriate. The tea, the bed making, the extra attention could be regarded as a dedicated man going beyond his duty. The lending of books could be seen as an officer helping a subordinate to better himself. Said officer accepting gifts from that subordinate was something else entirely.

“You have been so kind to me, sir. Lending me your books and so forth. I wanted to give something to you.” With one hand, Jopson fidgeted with his hair, pushing the ever-errant strand back into place. With the other, he held out a white handkerchief. The corner had been embroidered with the initials E.L. in a script more curling and calligraphic than Edward could have managed with pen and ink, let alone needle and thread. “I thought,” Jopson went on, “you might carry it with you tomorrow, during the match. As a good luck charm, or a sort of a, um, favour.” He blinked at Edward with wide, uncertain eyes. “Although that speaks more of King Arthur than of d'Artagnan, perhaps.” 

Edward's heart squeezed. This man was the most adorable, the most charming Edward had ever known. It seemed impossible, almost, that a man of such pure goodness should exist. Indeed, if Edward did not know him, he would scarcely believe he was real. 

Edward was but a mortal man. What could he do, when faced with an angel such as this? How could he hope not to succumb? 

Edward took a step forward. It was enough, in the small room, to put him directly in front of Jopson. Jopson looked at him, his pretty gaze unwavering. Edward should say something, but no words came to mind. It was wrong. He knew Jopson was not his. Still, he could not help himself. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch. It was Jopson who closed the distance and kissed him. 

His lips were soft, but his hands were demanding. They slid up Edward's back to grasp at his shoulders, clinging as Jopson's mouth opened just a little, just enough for Edward to feel the slickness of his tongue. Just enough, thank God, for Edward to come crashing back to his senses. 

“No.” Edward pulled away. 

Jopson's eyebrows drew together; his lovely smile evaporated. His gaze roamed wildly across Edward's bed, his bookshelf, anything but Edward himself. 

“I'm sorry.” His voice was low and rough, as if he were fighting tears. A torrent of emotion threatened to overcome Edward, as well, but he summoned all of his fortitude and held it back. The handkerchief disappeared into Jopson's pocket as he said, “I understand. You are not inclined. My apologies, sir.”

“Not inclined?” Edward sounded more harsh than he intended to, but never had he heard such an untruth. He laughed from sheer incredulity. The sound was a broken one. “Mr. Jopson, I am _very much_ inclined. I might well say that nobody has ever been more inclined towards anything.”

Jopson's sorrowful expression eased towards puzzlement. “Well, then...”

“We cannot be false to the captain. I cannot abide such deceit. And neither, I suspect, can you.” Whatever folly this was, he could not believe Jopson would truly be unfaithful. He didn't have it in him. 

“The captain?” Jopson was not a man given to falsehoods, nor was he of low intelligence. This, Edward knew. The continued confusion on his face was incomprehensible. 

“Yes, the captain.” Edward spoke clearly, and as loudly as he dared. “You are betrothed to the captain.”

The laugh that erupted from Jopson was so merry that Edward's heart lurched before he even knew the cause for it. “You refuse to kiss me,” Jopson went on, a grin threatening to split his face in two, “only because you believe I am _engaged to Captain Crozier_?” 

Edward was not particularly known for his sense of humour, although he did possess one. He could find nothing funny in this situation. “That is the normal way of things. Between captains and their stewards.”

“Perhaps, but it is not our way.”

“You are telling me you do not love the captain?” Edward wouldn't believe it. The affection between the two of them was evident to all.

“I do, but I could no sooner marry him than I could my own father. We are not lovers, Lieutenant. We never have been.” 

Realization was slow to dawn on Edward. When it arrived, it hit him like a shot from a 42-pounder. Jopson—Thomas—put his arms about Edward and Edward let him, holding him tightly as Thomas planted eager kisses across his face.

The wisest course of action now would be a slow courtship. They had, quite obviously, nothing but time on their hands. Time for he and Thomas to get to know one another, to grow closer, to determine whether they were a compatible couple. Edward opened his mouth, ready to mention all of this. The words that came out were: “Then will you consent to marry _me_?” 

“Yes!” Thomas didn't falter, not for an instant. He just kept up his joyous kissing, over and over, until Edward steadied him in his arms and kissed him back, on the mouth. It was long and slow and absolutely perfect. 

They tumbled over onto Edward's bunk. 

“No, no.” Edward grasped Thomas' hands as they landed on the waistband of his trousers. “We cannot,” he said again, even as his body groaned in protest. “We must wait.” 

“Wait?” Thomas sounded once again bemused.

“For our marriage,” Edward explained, through gritted teeth. “What sort of man would I be if I sullied your virtue before then?” A happy one, certainly. But Edward could not put his base desires above Thomas' morality. That was not the sort of man—the sort of spouse—Edward wished to be.

Thomas let out a long sigh. He raised Edward's hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, then looked up, to meet his eye. “Might I tell you a joke, Edward?”

“A joke?”

“It's quite a popular one. You may have heard it before. What is the difference between a unicorn and a naval steward who is a virgin on his wedding night?” 

Edward has not heard it. “I, I, I don't know, I...”

“One,” Thomas said, his breath hot against Edward's ear, “is a mythical creature that has never truly existed on God's green Earth. And the other is a unicorn.” 

Before Edward even had chance to laugh, Thomas was upon him, his tongue plundering Edward's willing mouth and his hands questing across Edward's welcoming body. 

As a gift, the handkerchief was beloved. As a good luck charm, it was worthless. Edward fared very poorly in the officers' football match. Whether that was due to exhaustion from a lack of sleep, or distraction from continually sneaking glances at Thomas, as he stood watching by Captain Crozier's side, he could not have said. Edward's team lost by an atrocious margin. Afterwards, the officers of both ships crowded into _Terror_ 's wardroom, where Edward sat awkwardly pressed between Irving and Hodgson. When Thomas and his fellow stewards had finished serving the drinks, Crozier motioned for quiet. 

“It has been brought to my attention,” he said, in a loud and slightly slurred tone, “that Edward--” Edward froze, “our very own Lieutenant Little himself, has lately become engaged to Mr. Jopson!” 

Silence fell like a heavy blanket. Edward, face burning and his stomach sinking, looked to Thomas, in his usual position against the wall. He did not appear alarmed. “Despite the fact the blackguard didn't even ask my permission...” Guilt came over Edward. He really should have done that. He ought to have. Why hadn't he... “I raise my glass to the both of them in most hearty congratulations!” The assemblage followed suit, Hodgson slapping Edward on the back and Irving staring at him with what could only be described as “uncertain admiration.” “I hope for your sake, Jopson,” Crozier went on, glancing over his shoulder at Thomas, “that your man is better in the bedroom than he is on the football pitch!” 

A raucous round of laughter followed. Thomas still seemed unfazed.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, giving Edward a wink. That, of course, did not go unnoticed. The hooting and laughter redoubled. A few of the more enthusiastic officers—many, like the captain himself, drunk or well on their way to it—banged appreciatively on the table. He ought to have been humiliated, but it was all, Edward found, very easy to ignore when he looked at Thomas' smiling face, and when he remembered Thomas' embroidered handkerchief, folded up neatly and sitting in Edward's breast pocket. 

***

The day, when it at last arrived, was a beautiful one, sunny and surprisingly warm for late April. It might have been the anniversary of the day they walked out. Edward didn't know, and was sure Thomas hadn't looked it up, either. He'd chosen a Wednesday because some poem said it was lucky for a wedding.

“'Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday the best day of all',” Thomas had quoted, kissing Edward's nose as he sat on Edward's knee in Crozier's drawing room. “I don't believe it, of course, but after the lives we've lived, I'll take all the extra luck I can get.”

The weather was lucky, at least. To Edward, this seemed no more than their due. They had waited so long for this moment to come, and been so unsure at times if it would ever arrive, it would have seemed like sheer pettiness if God had allowed it to rain. 

Edward got to the naval chapel in Portsmouth in good time to greet the guests. His side of the church was quickly filled by his enormous family, his parents and brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins. All but his sweet sister Hattie, who sat, as she had vowed she would, on Thomas' side instead. “He's our family, too,” was her explanation, although Edward didn't need one to love her even more than he already did. “He is now. Somebody has to be there for him.”

A handful of their old shipmates were equally present, the ones who had survived. They embraced Edward in the doorway before limping to their seats inside. Irving and Gibson, recently married themselves although apparently both families had been displeased with the match, came hand in hand. Captain Fitzjames, when he appeared, clapped Edward on the shoulder. “Congratulations, old boy,” he said, his voice a little altered by the false teeth that had replaced his own missing ones. “Couldn't happen to a better man.” There had been rumours it might happen to him soon, although Thomas didn't put much stock in them. 

“The only person he'd marry is Captain Crozier,” he said, with firm conviction. “And I would know if the captain had asked him. I'd have been tasked with finding the ring myself.”

Soon after, a chimney sweep approached Edward, soot-covered and riding his brush-laden bicycle. It was meant to be good luck to see one at a wedding, Edward knew. No doubt this man made a good living loitering in the area for just such a reason. “Beautiful day to marry, sir,” the sweep said, but before he could engage in further conversation, a red brougham came tripping down the road. The driver pulled to a stop in front of the chapel. 

Sir Francis Crozier emerged first, wearing a grey morning suit. 

“Edward! You look very well indeed.” He was not the first to say it. Edward was overwarm and beginning to sweat in his dress uniform, including gloves but without the bicorn hat, which he could of course not wear inside the church. In his pocket was a badly stained and much mended handkerchief, initialled E.L. His good luck charm, although Edward felt most certainly, and most gratefully, that any luck it had to give had been exhausted getting them to this point. “But I'll get out of the way. I know it's not me you are eager to see.” With a grin on his face, the former captain disappeared inside, and Edward turned to the brougham.

Their love was sorely tested in the north. At times, it had nearly reached the point of breaking. Thomas had been most of the way out of his mind by the end, adoring of Edward one minute and furious with, or sometimes frightened of, him the next. Edward had been faced with choices he'd never thought he'd see, decisions he never thought he'd be forced to make. The experience had changed both of them irreparably. How could it not?

At Fort Resolution, when Thomas was lucid again, Edward had offered to let him be. To dissolve their engagement and permit Thomas to move on with his life. Edward thought it was a noble suggestion, breaking his own heart to save Thomas', but Thomas had at once begun to cry. 

“The only thing that has kept me alive to this point,” he said, as Edward held him in an otherwise empty bunkhouse that stunk of wood smoke and sweat, their faces and heads shaved down to the skin to rid them of lice, “is the thought of spending the rest of my life with you.” 

Of course, Edward felt the same way. Of course, they renewed their pledge of love there, in the stuffy bunkhouse. Of course, Edward never thought to make such a foolish offer again. 

Now, Edward found himself holding his breath as Thomas stepped out of the brougham.

“You're not wearing your lieutenant's uniform?” 

Thomas was dressed as a steward, with his high white collar and blue coat devoid of epaulettes. “Whenever I pictured this moment, I was always dressed like this. We both know I'm not a real lieutenant, in any case.”

The Admiralty's prejudice and infernal narrow-mindedness was the last thing Edward wanted to think about at present.

“You look wonderful whatever you wear,” he said, instead. It was true. Today, Thomas was even more handsome than usual. Thomas, for his part, didn't seem to be able to take his eyes off Edward. It gave Edward a swell of pride, and a confidence that, perhaps, he didn't look a complete imposter himself.

“Yes, indeed,” the chimney sweep put in. “Captain and steward, is it?” 

“Commander,” Thomas replied, looking at Edward in that way he sometimes did. The way that made Edward want to be a better officer, a better lover, a better man. “He's my Commander.” 

That statement was misleading at best. Thomas was the one who'd chosen their little cottage by the sea, where Edward had already taken up residence and where Thomas would join him after today. It was Thomas who'd planned the wedding, down to the last detail. No matter what Thomas said on the matter, it was he who had given Edward the strength to go on when he was ready to give up. Thomas was the true commander here, and Edward could not have been happier about it. 

“You're a very handsome couple. Best of luck to you both, is what I say.” The sweep looked at them expectantly. Edward reached into his purse and pressed a coin into the man's hand. It was evidently of a larger denomination than he'd been expecting, because the man grinned and said it again. “Best of luck, sirs! I know you'll make a fine pair.” 

“Yes,” Thomas agreed, linking his arm with Edward's. “We do.” 

_Never mind health, or wealth, or even luck_ , Edward thought, crossing the chapel threshold with Thomas. _I've got everything I'll ever need right here._ He smiled, beaming as brightly as the springtime sun as he walked walked down the aisle to begin a life he'd once thought he would never have, with a man he'd once believed he could never be with.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: "In an 1846 where homophobia just Isn't A Thing, the British class system is far more relaxed than it probably was, and the Franklin expedition makes it through the passage in a year, it's a naval cliché that officers often end up marrying their stewards  
> either or both of:  
> \- Thomas patiently trying to show Edward how fab a partner he is - bringing him late night tea, mending his shirts when Gibson has more pressing things to do - while Edward, who is truly nothing if not oblivious, pines away sadly because he thinks Crozier and Jopson are a thing  
> (bonus points if James and Francis are conspiring to get them together and everything is only revealed when the captains announce their engagement)  
> \- A very cliché, soft, romantic courtship between Irving and Gibson who are both painfully shy"


End file.
